


unspoken words

by Swiickol



Series: quiet motions [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Child Neglect, Family Dynamics, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Kinda, Me when Alivebur, No one dies btw Wil is just sad, Suicide Attempt, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, it’s not really mentioned t h a t much but it’s there, no beta we die like Wilbur’s soul after the elections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:15:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swiickol/pseuds/Swiickol
Summary: Wilbur is fine.Right?-----Or, Wilbur is left at home once again.
Series: quiet motions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152053
Comments: 1
Kudos: 84





	unspoken words

**Author's Note:**

> This?? Sucks?? So?? Bad?? Omg

Wilbur is 15 and already feels like dying. 

It's another tournament, another chance for Technoblade to get another reward to put in his ever-growing trophy case. 

He says he’s fine, watching Techno and Phil leave. He says it’s okay. That he'll wait at home patiently, awaiting their return. 

But as he sits on the roof, staring down at the vast, snowy landscape that he calls his home, he feels so empty. Wearing nothing but a yellow jumper and a jean jacket, it was a tad chilly. The steam rising from the chimney providing next to no comfort- barely any wood burning in the fireplace inside. He'd give it 15 minutes tops for the wood to burn completely. 

The sky is a vast void, no stars lighting it like so many nights before. It was symbolic, in a sense, even the constellations decided to leave him. Hilarious. He lets out a dry chuckle, shuffling a bit so his legs could dangle off the roof. Swinging his legs back and forth in a concentrated rhythm. 

It wasn't peaceful, no, it felt more...a wistful melancholy in his opinion. 

Before this all started, he never realised how lonely he truly is without anyone around to converse with him. The snarky comments that usually came from his brother's mouth weren't present, replaced by the white noise that is the wild winds. Even if he disliked him for the amount of time he took away from their father, Techno was still a voice. 

He'd do anything to hear a voice other than his own right now. 

As if on cue, a large howl of wind blew by, nearly blowing the brooding teen off of the roof. He scrambled back to his spot, letting out a few quick breaths. Wilbur wasn't as scared as he usually would've been, he internally noted. He brushed bits of snow and dirt off of his jeans. 

How come the only thing that would talk to him was the bastard that is Mother Nature? Like, come on. 

Unfortunately, his father had to choose one of the most uninhabitable places to settle down. As a young child it seemed fun, but now? There's no one around for miles. 

There's only snow. 

Cold, white mush. 

The barrier keeping Wilbur home. 

As much as he's come to dislike the pair-  
He wishes they wouldn’t go. Wouldn’t leave him in the dust as if he were just a dog, waiting patiently for its owner to come back and give it a pat. Then the owner would say 'I'm so proud of you for waiting so long buddy.' 

Phil wouldn't say that. Not to him, at least. Technoblade was the prodigal son. The son who could fight against a thousand warriors and still come out mostly unscathed. Wilbur was just the musical one, the songwriter who desperately scrambled for more recognition. 

Wilbur's breathing wavered for a brief second as he remembers the times he spent with Phil before his older brother was found. Oh, how it was a peaceful time, filled with his father's warm smile and soft wings. He missed his father's hugs, his wings wrapping around him, as if they could protect him anywhere he went. 

He hadn’t had a hug in so long. 

Wilbur clutched his jacket, trying to give himself the comfort he’d never receive from a real human person. His arms were shaking, digging deeper into the rough texture of his jacket. The tips of his fingers were scraped and red, but he didn't care. It was fine. No one would see it after all. 

Liquid fell from his eyes, making his vision go blurry. That shouldn't- that shouldn't be happening. He wiped away the tears streaming down his face, telling himself that he was just getting worked up over nothing. Them leaving hurt, yes, but surely it wasn't something to cry about? 

He's 15 for fucks sake. He's not a child. He's a teenager, teenagers don't cry. Wilbur put his face in his arms, biting his lip to force the tears to not come out. 

"I'm strong. I-I'm strong." He ignored how his voice cracked at that. 

The tears still c a m e. 

He hated them. He hated them oh so much. 

Tears were for the snotty-nosed 5 year olds begging their parents for a plastic sword from the shops. Not an almost adult man. 

Gripping his hair now, looking at the horizon with glassy eyes and a fierce emotion he couldn't describe. 

His mind was a bit scratchy after that. 

___________

Wilbur glared down at the snow like it were his fated archenemy and he was the hero sent to put an end to it forever. It called to him. 

The whispers in his ears told him it was much more peaceful on the ground. That he was meant to be here on this specific night. To let the earth reclaim what once was hers. 

Honestly. It sounded nice. 

A little lay in the snow, that'd be fun. The cold numbing all of his thoughts until he were nothing but a mere pile of human mush. 

The risk of death was high, but it didn't bother him. No one was here!

It'd be fine. 

..... 

What if he fell right now. For real. 

Would they care?

....

Would they?

.....

They don't care enough to be present so..

Does that mean...

They wouldn't....?

They're not here. 

They're not here. 

They're not here. 

They're not here. 

They're not here. 

They're not here. 

They won't know. 

They wouldn't care. 

They wouldn't ca...

They wouldn't....

They...  
___________

Wilbur lay in the snow, ribs aching and blood running down his nose. His lungs slowly intake oxygen, the position he's in making it much harder to breathe. Most of his face was numb, the ice and blinding pain giving off a fuzzy feeling. 

A shame that the snow saved him from a bucketload more injuries. 

He can feel blood start to run down his forehead- no doubt from some sort of head wound. 

His ribs might be bruised. Hell, some might be even broken. He's in too much pain to tell. 

His vision starts to fade in and out, the little amount of adrenaline he had starting to wear. 

As the world turns blurry and black, he has no real regrets. 

After all, no one would know.

.  
.  
.  
.  
.

He slid off of the roof.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
________

Hours later, a teenage boy pulls himself out of a heap of snow, slowly limping inside the comfort of a large, wooden cavern. 

The boy promptly passed onto his bed, leaving his wounds untreated for yet another day. 

He cared far too little to worry about it now.  
________

If Phil and Techno noticed the lack of bandages when they arrived months later, they sure didn't tell Wilbur.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :).


End file.
